Considerable Moves
by Silver Blazen
Summary: They were divided between their promises and duties, filled with remorse for both their actions and inactions. But before the next mission would separate them once again, Steve and Natasha explore what could've been-and what still could be.


_**Considerable Moves**_

 _ **All characters belong to Marvel Comics and Studios**_

It took a moment for him to reconsider his choice; there wasn't enough time to fall back. He was treading into dangerous waters. She was close; practically a heartbeat away from his rigid chest. He felt trapped—more like a captive in the web of her brazen tactics. There was no going back.

"Keep your eyes on me, soldier," Natasha enticed with a low purr, it wasn't enough to keep him entirely immobilized, but frozen enough to allow her to lead. The wafting scent of chilled mint lingered over her full rose shaded lips which threatened to claim full dominance over him.

With a collective glint in her eyes, she took in his visage; the details that she hadn't seen for awhile. He looked careworn, disheveled by the tempests he faced alone...He was still the same Steve Rogers.

Nothing changed. His threadbare denim jeans hugged at the slender lines of his hips, a muted gray shirt did little to conceal his chiseled and muscular torso. Sheared, ashen blonde hair was unkempt and rough. His prominent cheek bones were hollowed with his tensed countenance, and his strong jaw was set into determined clench with a hint of thickness under his chin. With a graceful effort of her gloved hand, Steve felt her pulse gripping over his knuckles as their fingers interlocked into a connecting embrace of equal trust. _But was it real?_

He stiffened, trying to process everything. Tension coiled in the ridges of his muscles, ripples of the serum douse a fever that elevated in his blood. Sweat dotted his creased brow. Natasha used his timidness against him, manipulating his senses to follow her every move fluidly. "Don't tell me that you're too scared, Rogers," her smooth voice held bemused evidence. "It's not life and death..." Her lips graced over the sleek edge of his clenched jaw. "It's just a dance," she conveyed.

Steve had made a vow.

 _"I'll be there..."_

To him it felt like a lifetime had passed. Everything he once knew back in 1944 was diminishing as days carried out new missions, experiences, and testaments of his guarded heart. Being a displaced soldier, he was stuck fighting his own war of unresolved desires and broken promises. The words he'd relayed on the Valkyrie's radio had meant so much, almost a disguised confession of his devotion towards Peggy, but when those harrowing moments crushed him inside, he listened to her voice; allowing her strength to fuel him through passages of ice.

After he had awoken from the thaw, drenched and cold, Steve knew that he couldn't offer his heart to his best girl, not when distance and time speared a division between them. He couldn't go back... He couldn't move on, or grasp another dance partner's hand without feeling a hollow clench of regret activate in his chest.

Steve couldn't breathe, his heart thudded wildly in resistance and blood rushed to his head. He tried to falter back—retreat, but she locked her arm over the expanse of his shoulders, the leather of his bomber jacket crinkled in the wake of her possessive grasp. She pinned him against the length of her billowing overcoat.

"Natasha," he returned abashedly, gathering an intake of breath as his lips slanted into a weak smirk. He felt himself absently shrinking under her shadow. "I'm not really good at dancing with a partner..." His dismal azure eyes narrowed to her boots, and then he swallowed down a nervous knot into his throat. It all felt too familiar and enthralling—but she's wasn't Peggy. He had to be honest. "And I'd hate to step on your heels."

She almost felt the urge to roll her eyes—almost."I think we can compromise..." She smirked defiantly, sliding her palm gently over the jagged edge of his frost-bitten cheek. Her eyes rove to his full lips; so plush and inviting as she exchanged an opened stare with his stunning, crystalline, azure eyes. "We're partners remember?"

"Nat, I... Yeah. We're partners; it's just that...I've never learned how to dance."

He brushed a few loose blonde tresses off his forehead and pressed his lips into a taut grimace, unsure of what else to say to her when their eyes met in one equal glance. She had calmness about her, lethal and observant. Her grayish-green eyes held so much variants of pain that she refused to exploit. He could see the light piercing through darkness, the flares of trust—devotion that she held back underneath the guise of the Black Widow. For that single moment, his soft lips parted and a breath of admission emerged. He steeled his posture."I always wanted to try it, but I never got the chance to ask a beautiful dame—I mean woman, out."

"Well, I'm not busy at the moment," she whispered, slow and tentative. He furrowed his eyebrows, but she never took her eyes away from his hesitant gaze. His promise that he made to Peggy still gripped him to the bone. He needed to let the past remain where he left it—in the ice. He needed to fully awaken and take a few risks, even sharing dance with a right partner. "I can give you some practice, if you want?"

Steve dipped his head down in silent reverence as he released a despondent breath; there was a constant pull of gravity that felt relentlessness against him. "I can't ask you to do that, Natasha. Besides, you have plans with Barton and his family."

He dismissed her imploring offer, even though it hurt; but he didn't want to become an obstruction to her elusive life on the run. Deciding on his given choice, his own gloved hand reluctantly slipped out of her tight clutch. They were friends—just good friends; at least that what the soldier part of him chose to accept. "You should go; Lila is counting on her Auntie Nat to teach her how to dance...And I don't want to distract you from that."

Not surprised by his cover of reluctance, Natasha nodded mutely and showed just hint of disappointment on the corner of her lips. She looked into his pained blue eyes, searching through the echoes of his past regrets. Still, she persisted with a husky edge in her voice; her gloved fingers caress an inch close to the upper arch of his lip. She held his stare there, aligning her hip against his, creating a spark of friction between them. It wasn't a flirtatious distraction to gain his attention; she wanted to convince him that he wasn't alone—that he could embrace the warmth again. "Why don't you come with me? Clint hasn't seen you for awhile..."

"I can't," he deflected, pulling away from her. His face tensed into a knife-edge semblance, lashes of cold wind erased the heat that she left on his skin, and his coarse blonde hair was slowly getting dusted with falling snow. He breathed in deeply and managed to curve the edges of his sulking lips into a fading smile. "I just can't..." His hand gently tucked into his jean's pockets, fingers rubbing over the cold brass of his compass. He knew where he needed to be...Where he was always welcomed and united with his ghosts of the past. It's not a home...But it's the next best thing. "There's some places I-I gotta be at."

Natasha smiled a little at that; she understood the extent of his choice all too well. She detected the pain, so evident and clear in his baritone. She wanted to keep him with her, to be his shield against the storms he faced...His guarded heart wasn't expandable. It could easily tear in frays if he allowed it. She respected his distance. After all, Steve was a man out of time who needed to rediscover a life that was lost to him.

"This is your honest answer, Steve?" she asked lowly with a shadowy smirk, once again searching in the depth of conviction that she could visibly see in the rims of ice swirling in his blue eyes. It wasn't a beautiful lie; it was a hollow and filled with desperation to redeem a sense of peace within himself. Steve didn't budge; he became lost in the moment with her. Connected. "I know that you're not a good liar."

Steve didn't retort back at first, Natasha caught a glimpse of a tear streaking down the edge of his cheek. "It doesn't matter. You have your own missions, I honor that you keep your promises well. I'm just not ready for new experiences yet, there's a lot I need to figure out."

He stowed his pain, hiding the buildup of sorrow with a genuine smile ghosting over his lips. He knew that she was blossoming into a stronger and beautiful woman of quick decision and rational truths because of the bond she shared with Clint Barton. He didn't want to cause a division of interests between them because of something real and surrendering that he could feel stirring in his gut—something he only felt once all too briefly.

With a slow turn of his head, Steve trained his blue orbs pensively at the parked motorcycle; the saddle was encrusted with remnants of snow. He had a different road to take—he needed to find Bucky, to restore his detached and tortured Brooklyn brother—he needed to bring him home. Finally, emitting a sigh, his hand rooted firm pressure on her tensed shoulder. "You go and a have great time with Barton and his family, Nat."

"I will," Natasha replied somberly, smiling as she glanced into his shining blue eyes. There was so much she wanted to discard, but time was limited and she had been called elsewhere. She needed to keep her promise to her little niece. She also had something to give back to him.

With a fast slip of her hand into the interior of her pocket, she pulls over a wrapped red package, outstretching her hand to him. "Here, I forgot to give this to you at Stark's gala." Steve looks down at her hand, and freely takes the gift. She smirks. "It's just something I've been saving, to give to you at the right time..."

He inspects it tentatively, his gloved fingers reverently caress the twined ribbon securing the secret underneath. "Nat, you didn't have to—"

She grits in a low seethe, impatience flaring in her teal eyes. "Just open it. There's no return offer."

He unravels the ribbon and rips the taped paper. He never expected anything from her. Not a gift. He feels a stabbing in his chest, realizing that he never bought her anything for Christmas. It was pathetic and utterly cheap on his part. Natasha had kept his feet level, she committed her time to teach him methods of the evolving world.

Natasha was a true friend. One of the best a guy like him could ask for. She deserved something more than a wrapped gift from a department store. Maybe he could buy her a fancy dress, scarlet or black velvet to match the blaze of her copper hair; or a new necklace that would be either a star or rose? So many choices, but what could he give to her that seemed deserving?

"Come on, Rogers, while we're young..."

He smiled lightly, listening to the pitch of her grating voice echo with insistence. He sucked in the cold air and unfolded the final piece, a gleam of tarnished silver reflected in his soulful eyes. He fights against the ache invading his heart when his gaze dismally narrowed at the engraved name: James Buchanan Barnes.

Tears swelled in his eyes, sloping over his chilled skin, as he tasted the salt running over his still lips. His fingers gripped the chain, as he lifted it up gently, allowing shafts of vanishing moonlight to glint against the dog tags.

The world halted to a stop, memories merged from the recesses of his mind. A vicious slash of bitterness scraped against him as he squeezed his hand into a fist, securing the tags with all of his pulsing strength. "Buck, he was all I had in Brooklyn," he relented back, closing his eyelids, his lashes gathered flecks of snow. He held the chain against his chest, pinning the silver plates over his heart. "I should've never allowed this to happen to him...He always had my back and I was seconds too late to return that promise."

Natasha realized that she has to turn Steve away from all of this, to give him back desire and ambition. She wanted to give him a reason to fight—to dance. They chased their own ghosts; he went with Sam Wilson to search for Bucky across Europe, using the Soviet file as a map to point him in the right direction, while she returned to Russia to retrace her past while creating a new identity for survival. After a few months, they reunited with the Avengers, he became the team's strong, forthright and conveying leader; and used his leadership qualities to effectively harness each member's strengths when engaged on the battlefield. He was the heart of the Avengers.

 _T_ he growth of their working relationship became distant, amorphous and devolved. Each day they suffered to push through limitations; their sparring matches were out of sync, and even their causal dates at the coffee shops. Emboldening the commander role, set him off track, he maintained distance and valued her as his trusted soldier on the ranks, at least on the surface. He never wanted her to use him as an anchor; he didn't want to break their special bond—she definitely cared about him, and would gladly lay down her life for him.

There was something that linked them emotionally deeper; it's wasn't an illusion that became fabricated every time they stared into the other's eyes; or to use when their hearts were fractured. When they combined their tactics and skills, it was poetry in motion—flawless and graceful.

Things had changed the serene camaraderie, causal flirting and the tender moments of their friendship, all of that had been torn apart because Steve never geared up the courage to call her. He was still attached to Peggy, still holding onto that promise that kept him grounded. She found someone else to share those missed opportunities with, someone less warranted to his choices. So he carried on, devoted his time to rebuild his life, to find a stable purpose and redirect himself out of the past. He never meant to push her away. She was already gone when he finally dialed her number.

Holding onto Bucky's dog tags in the clutch of his hand, feeling the silver dig into his skin, Steve never felt so hardened with guilt. He was reaching the point where everything—everyone—was getting taken from him. He couldn't move on...He wanted to take a different road with no directions to follow.

The urge to run became potent in his veins at this moment; the wintry air was crisp and the snowfall light. He knew it was a good night to ride out. He needed to find himself again. "Thank you, Natasha," he said gratefully, in a faint whisper, and then he shared a parallel glance with her obscured teal eyes. Honesty and sentiment laid exposed in his strained baritone."This means a lot to me...Thank you."

Natasha couldn't bargain with the worth of his pure heart. Listening to the clear hitch of ache in Steve's voice; she had resisted the impulse to escape from embracing another moment with him. _"Don't mention it..."_ That would have been the Black Widow's cold and expected response to evade a tentative approach, but he didn't deserve to hear a false conviction scraping against her raw throat, just a simple return of equal understanding.

With a gentle stare directed at him, she quirked her lips into a smile, the apples of her cheeks grew fuller as her eyes held glimmers of light. It felt good to do something that wasn't for her own gain or succession. This was to help him through a healing process, to give him back hope. Those conceived words became a jarring struggle to dismiss in a pace of breaths."You're welcome. I know how much Bucky means to you. He's a good man…Just lost...When the time is right you'll find him again. Friends never give up on each other. I don't want you to give up on him, Steve."

 _...Until the end of the line, pal. You're stuck with me..._

The storm wouldn't hasten in his chest. Thoughts returned to memories. Remorse grew tight in his throat. He couldn't escape from the nightmarish images that battered him down each time he ventured back into the abyss. He clenched the tags with more fervent pulse that almost turned his hand numb.

Losing Bucky had ultimately become a harsh toll, not only to his body, but also his mind and soul. It was a sense of detachment that wouldn't abate. He fought to evade the pain, to push himself, to remain in the light. There had to be an alternative to win the battle. He was a soldier at heart, and yet he felt weighted into defeat.

"I used to have a reason to fight," he admitted in a raspy monotone, looking intently at the chain dangling over his fingers. He looked back at her, completely exposed against the rush of pain. He wanted to crash to his knees, pound his fists into the frozen ground to release every tendril of misery. Instead, he drew out a calm breath, despite his reservations. "Now, I'm not so sure I want to put on the uniform."

Her eyes widened with disbelief, she refused to listen to his surrendering tone. Captain America never ran from a fight, he always found a way out. For a moment, Natasha wished she hadn't given him the dog tags. "Look, I know things seem rough because of the choices we've made, but if you give up on this mission, it will haunt you, Steve."

Every moment of being with her, marked his restless soul with apparitions of utmost regrets. Steve couldn't escape the weaves of twisting desire, the longing to be near her…to protect her with every ounce of his strength. He needed to feel the warmth of her lithe body solidify against him, stare into the oceans of teal that held raging storms of her past, and taste the hot and burning love merge into his lips; liquid fire—devouring in his veins and breaching his core.

Inside, Steve knew that he had to tell her…That's what he had to do…but she wouldn't look back, she would run into the red storms and disconnect herself from his world of light. They were drifters in fragments of time, and the moments they shared unmasked and connected were just glimpses of what it felt like to breathe again.

And he could never admit that to her.

"This is my choice, Natasha..." He had to remain true to his promise; Bucky needed him more than ever, and since everything was at a calm, his shield wasn't needed in the cross fire. Was that the real truth of his decision? Saving Bucky? Reconnect a torn bond that was made on the streets of Brooklyn? He'd wanted stability—a home away from the battlefront.

Those olden dreams now seemed unreachable. Natasha was close, almost easy to grasp if walls didn't barrier enclosed around her heart, and yet he remained distant. "Captain America needs to be put on bench, and Steve Rogers needs to find his best friend."

"That's a good choice to make," Natasha said in a soft timbre, her eyes softened aglow as she gazed down at the tags. With fluid grace, she spun in her heeled boots, facing the cold wind, copper strands whipped against her cheeks. A frail smirk tugged at her lips, sensing avoidance between them. "Well, I should be heading out, although it's always fun to keep Barton waiting...But I have someone counting on me back there, and this time I'm not breaking any promises."

She was slipping away from him again.

He offered her an understanding nod, his eyebrows knitted together as wrinkles indented the bridge of his nose. He squinted his eyes, still allowing her to stare into the icy azure shadowed by tensed skin. His lips parted, revealing a hesitant, edgy smile. It was then that Natasha couldn't take her eyes away from the hardness of muscle clenching with the movement of his broad jaw; the emptiness residing in his piercing stare."Yeah, it seems like a track record with us..."

Natasha felt the depth of his hollow words bereave her to craft her lips into a dismal smirk. Just like that her world turned. If she wanted him, now was her chance to define her choice...Would he accept her, more than a friend? Exposing a valid secret was something she needed to do.

With a shaky breath, her lips pressed into a flat line. She fought the darkened, livid images of the past, the phantoms that lulled her to drown in red oceans of sin. Trying to mask her inward terrors, she played the actress once again. An empty smile gave him the enigmatic impression that she was still unreadable and deviant to bleed out her core grounded feelings towards him. Her head lowered, and a wounded confession emerged. "I just want to say that you're not alone. If you need me to—"

"It's all right, Nat. I have to take this mission on my own," he returned adamantly, gathering up a mere glimpse of an honest smile. He found various reasons to convince his heart to pretend—to ignore the dense ache inside of him. She deserved to embrace a new life—purpose, not to stand waiting for him to eagerly reach for her hand.

As he stared into the smoky haze of her alluring eyes, Steve found the same profound acceptance that he saw within the gaze of Peggy; also the vivid, throes of pain that contrasted against his. So much unresolved tension hung between them; outweighing risks to move a step closer.

Suddenly, he felt an ease wash over him, the grayness of memories that weaved images of the Winter Solider and the utmost of his failures are stripped from a hellbent fight. His heart pounded with a silent accord...He couldn't deny his love to her...He freed an audible sigh. "Same goes for you too, Nat." It became to contesting to dismantle himself in front of her. "If you ever need me," he said tenderly, his eyes falling to the snow collecting over his boots, strain tainted his voice."I'll be at your side in a heartbeat." Steve spoke with a measure of promise and he tucked the chained tags into his pocket as he looked up into her eyes.

She barely saw a subtle curve of a lopsided smile stretching over his boyishly chiseled face. His blue eyes held alight of that oath, crinkling at the edges, as he stared deep with equal stillness at her. One blink, and one pulse of frosty breath, Natasha permitted herself to breach his space, to catch him in time before they would follow new directions. She smiled wistfully, not evoking any more reluctance.

"Well, it was good to see you again, Steve," her voice crackled. She was never one to say goodbyes—she knew they weren't permanent... _Nothing lasts forever._.. She'd always caught herself with a lie before the sting of tears met her cheeks. "What's your next move?"

He was lost. Each direction he took always led him back to the past. _'You're still in a war, Steve. You need to go home.'_

Home was a distant memory.

His soul became unhinged, his stern countenance devolved and an array of irrational thoughts grew into a vast succession of doubt in his mind. "Honestly, I don't know..."

Natasha didn't give him a chance to finish; in a silent effortless motion, she pulled her lithe frame close to his and tilted her head slightly. He followed, lowering his head down so the angle of her mouth could press just an inch close to his lips. It would hurt too much to feel a chaste kiss delicately encompass his chilled skin, to feel the heated impression of her mouth linger there for a moment, penetrating deeper until she felt the urge to leave. "You'll figure it out," she assured.

She broke away tentatively, her coaxing teal eyes might have misted, but she used the coldness as an excuse for that. It didn't seem like the right time to explore anything more beyond that, even if they wanted it more than their next shaky breaths. Steve had to find the Bucky- and help him to remember who he once was before his world crashed down into the icy fathoms.

She turned around, unbalanced, and indignantly wiped a slow trek of a tears, unbidden. They couldn't exist on her pale features. She was trained to remain strong against the agonizing departure of attachment...Not a conflicted victim to her heart's weakness. She had to remove herself from him...Remain safe and out of reach. It was a mistake to test her emotional limits, especially after it had all been had been in vain when she took a chance with Banner. Maybe it was a delusion that she wanted to imagine, but she couldn't fall deeper into it. With an unhurried glance over her shoulder, she warned him with the barest hint of concern laced in her rasping voice. "Be careful, Steve...Chasing a ghost can be a dangerous run."

 _'Don't wait too long, soldier...'_ He couldn't allow her to walk away, not without knowing the enviable truth. It happened with a single dare of the heart; he reached for her, his grip solidified around her wrist.

"Wait," he commanded, breathless, his light azure eyes unfathomable. His smile grew broaden, and the softness of his lips lifted as he replaced distance with a shyly caress of his hand over her arm, as he faintly expressed his intentions. "I have something to give to you, Nat."

Questionably, Natasha arched up an eyebrow, unsure what he meant by that. His immediate forwardness didn't seem all that reserved—guarded. She was unprepared to equally accept the reverence of his gracing touch as he raised his gloved palms to the sides of her face, shadows accented over her ivory skin, his fingers spread apart as they brushed over her jaw and wove into her mass of unruly scarlet.

Taking a couple of deep breaths to compose himself, Steve angled his head down, his lips split and heady breath delivered a feverish beckon across her frigid skin. And she felt it, his soft breathing and pulses of heat over her lips as he reclaimed a funneling surge of measured confidence. He was going to share a real kiss with her... _Finally. A_ kiss was one of the most certain and endearing things in the world, he only had a moment to embrace a taste of it with Peggy. It wasn't enough for him to believe that love was real and not a dream. He didn't speak; the sincerity in his glimmering blue eyes mirrored the reflections of her darkened, winsome gaze, unblinking. He had to believe that it could be real with Natasha just for a moment.

He was tired of emptiness and the presence of the ghosts that slipped through the edges of his mind. He needed release from the cold slab that imprisoned him. Silence held her breath, as he leaned towards her lips. He moved slow, not submitting to guilt that harbored him back towards Peggy. Everything came down at once, it was difficult for him to register; the unabashed promise in his eyes dissolved and his stomach knotted. He felt a little uneasy at first, resistance was potent, but with a slow glide of his upper lip falling easily over her luscious mouth; he felt content enough for her to fully capture what he could offer to her.

The coldness that solidified over his lips melted, tendrils of warmth merged as she followed his tentative paces. Almost feeling like she'd lost the ability to move, Natasha felt her heart skipping a few palpable beats in the wake of their fervent collision, it was blissful, possessive and forgiving. His breath came up shaky, as his wetly lips expanded with subtle vibrations of heat. Their kiss deepened into a daring rhythmic pressure. Steve didn't want to bruise her lips with his ravenous hunger. In regards to his noble spirit and his love for her, the slips and slides of the kiss remained less intense, and was filled with tender, wakeful passion.

When they finally detached, breathless, his lips graced heat over her mouth, but he couldn't recognize the vague sensations that ignited through him; not when he felt the weightless embrace of her arms secured around him. She was shielding his heart, acting as a thermal barrier against the coldness. He stroked her copper strands, and dropped a second tremulous and delicate kiss over her lips. He had to leave her behind, this wasn't her fight to engage—he was a soldier and Bucky's life was his mission.

A stray tear landed over the corner his lips, and Steve wasn't sure who belonged to since they both felt the resistance to pull away. He swallowed, his thumb brushed over her parted trembling lips as he steadied his eyes back at hers, shimmering irises of azure morphed into a fierce, unwavering steel as he chased her smile. His eyes watered with hope. "Don't lose your way..." he murmured against her skin, before he turned to face the night, prepared to carry on his with his mission.

Listening to the thunderous engine rev up through the whiteness of snow, Natasha glanced back at Steve, watching the glow of his motorcycle light caress over him, as he fastened the helmet over his messy hair and clutched the throttle. She smirked, and returned that request with a promise. "I won't..."

 **The End.**

 _Happy 2016! I just wanted to write a small thank you to everyone who read and followed my Romangers stories this year. They are the best couple to write. Although, I don't have most of their main stories completed; this new year I will be devoting all my skill, imagination and free time to make their stories come alive for you. Also, I have a ton of one shot ideas that will be posted throughout the coming months. Thank you very much, it's always a pleasure to write and share this awesome pairing with you._


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